Great King Veceslav, and Other Vampire Carols
by HopeCoppice
Summary: Vlad keeps singing that breather carol. Bertrand decides to tell him the vampiric story. Based on Good King Wenceslas, crack!fic. Some tiny hints of slash if you're looking for it really hard, I suppose. Stupidly early, silly Christmas fic to try to counter some of the angst. Set mid-series 3 somewhere so no spoilers. COMPLETE
1. Great King Veceslav

**Set mid-series 3 somewhere. Stupidly early Christmas crack!fic because it occurred to me as I walked up the hill in the snow earlier and I figured we needed some silliness in this fandom right now. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, that would be ridiculous.**

_Good King Wenceslas looked out,  
On the feast of Stephen,  
When the snow l-_

"The feast of _Baldur_, Vlad." Bertrand interrupted his quiet carolling to himself as he worked his way through a dull essay on proper vampiric legal protocol. "Do you really know nothing of vampire traditions and lore?" Vlad sat back, lowering his pen.  
"Vampires have _Good King Wenceslas_?" Bertrand sighed.  
"We have the _great_ King Veceslav, yes. Although we don't _sing_ about him. And he really wasn't as impressive as his title would lead you to believe. You really don't know about him?" Vlad folded his arms, sensing an opportunity to get out of the boring work for a while.  
"Why don't you tell me?"

Bertrand sighed.  
"If I'm going to tell you bedtime stories, should I replace all the characters with people you know and make you the hero, like a little child?" Vlad grinned widely and nodded. Bertrand didn't seem as put out by this as he'd expected, but he settled into his chair more comfortably and waited for Bertrand to begin his tale.

_The great king… _Vladimir_… looked out of his window. It was the feast of Baldur, and he was abstaining from the celebrations as a mark of respect for his late Queen's passing. The dust that had once been her army and its leader lay outside the window, covering the ground for miles –_

Bertrand stopped with a mischievous smirk.  
"_Deep and crisp and even."_  
"Are you _trying _to scar me for unlife? You're ruining the caro-"_  
_"If you'd rather go back to your work…" Vlad fell silent and glowered at him. "Good. I'll carry on. _Deep and crisp and even._" The Chosen One twitched, but didn't protest.

_The great king was hungry. But then he noticed a peasant trudging wearily across his line of vision, gathering ashes into a large sack.  
"Bertrand," he called, and his loyal, highly intelligent, not to mention extremely handsome-_

"Bertrand, get on with it," the real Chosen One grumbled, and he caught himself.

_"Bertrand," he called, and his loyal servant came to his side. "That peasant. Who is he? And what is he doing?" The servant frowned out at the man, trying to make out his face, but for a while Bertrand did not know who was collecting the ash from the ground._

"Robin," Vlad supplied, taking the hint, and Bertrand grimaced.  
"I thought you _liked_ Robin. Do you call all the people you like peasants?" Vlad frowned.  
"Fine… Jonno, then."

_Then the man turned, and Bertrand glimpsed his face.  
"That's Jonno. He's collecting ash to mix into his pottery, to bulk it out cheaply. He lives in the nearest village, with his family, and they never have enough food."_

Vlad straightened up, excited.  
"Glad you didn't say Robin now, he _never _thought he had enough food. The story would never have ended." Bertrand frowned at him.  
"May I continue?"  
"Yeah! This is my favourite bit!" He didn't know why his tutor seemed so surprised; it was the best bit of the story, the heartwarming tale of how the king brought the peasant food and Christmas cheer.

_"Well, we can't have that," King Vladimir smirked. "Bring me food, lots of food. All my favourites, the richest you can find. And wine," he added as if as an afterthought. "There might as well be wine."_

"How generous." Vlad was beaming despite his tutor's irritation.  
"Could you let me finish?"

_Bertrand hurried to obey his master's every wish – _Vlad bit back his curiosity as something sad and longing crept into his tutor's tone; Bertrand wouldn't stand for any more interruptions and he was probably just hungry himself – _and they set out into the night, Bertrand carrying all the provisions as King Vladimir focused on following the peasant back to his dwelling. Once they got there, they laid out all the food and wine on Jonno's table, as if for a great feast, and the looks of joy on the peasants' faces were bright and grateful._

_Then Vladimir and Bertrand ripped out their throats and drained their sweet, delicious blood before sitting down to their feas-_

"Bertrand! That's a horrible story!" His tutor shrugged unapologetically.  
"We're vampires, Vlad. What did you expect to happen?"  
"But the whole moral of the story is about giving away what you have to help the needy, that's why they give them the food-"  
"The moral of the story," Bertrand corrected him with a smirk, "is that even poor people can have rich blood. Do you want to hear another, or are you ready to finish your work, now?"

Vlad picked up his pen and began to write.


	2. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Slayer

**So I decided to do another vampirised Christmas carol or two. Here's one you may recognise. Enjoy!  
**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, so consider it disclaimed.  
**

_"Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer,"  
_"Slayer," Bertrand muttered, and Vlad glanced up, irritated. He'd been waiting for a chance to catch up on his comics for ages, and now Bertrand was just loitering, correcting Wolfie's lyrics as he wandered past singing.  
_"Had a very shiny nose_..."  
"A UV bomb."

Vlad closed his comic and turned in his chair, arms folded.  
"Fine, Bertrand, tell the stupid vampiric version of the story. Just don't upset Wolfie if he comes in and hears you." His tutor frowned at him.  
"He's heard it. Ingrid's been trying to teach him it, but he says he prefers the breather version." He decided not to question the older vampire's intimate knowledge of the rest of the household's business – he probably didn't want to know – and simply waited for him to start.

_Rudolph, the red-nosed slayer, was-_  
"You're not singing this one either?" Bertrand glared at him.  
"No. Is that a problem?" The Chosen One smirked.  
"I could _order_ you to sing it."  
"You wouldn't get to the end of the sentence if you tried." Vlad raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly.  
"Isn't that treason?"  
"I'm sure there's an exception in circumstances of extreme irritation."  
"Whatever. Fine. Tell the story. Be all boring." Bertrand looked a little hurt for a moment, but he shook it off and started again.

_Rudolph, the red-nosed slayer, knew what the other slayers said about him. They thought, because of his red nose and friendly, cheerful nature, that he was an alcoholic, always drunk. In truth, though, while Rudolph wasn't the most intelligent of slayers in most respects, he was very determined and adept when it came to science. His nose was red because he'd badly sunburnt it during an experiment. Rudolph was an inventor, and he was working on one project, one that would change the world._

"The UV grenade. Wow, Bertrand, you're talking about a slayer like he's a person." Bertrand glared at him, but Vlad was unrepentant. "Hey, you _wanted_ to tell me this one. You can put up with me answering back." His tutor sighed; the boy had a point.

_He finally perfected it – the UV grenade – and showed all the other slayers what he'd made, but since it was the only one of its kind, he refused to demonstrate it that evening. All the other slayers laughed at him –  
"You've made a Christmas bauble!" they said, "Hang it from the tree and get out of our way, we're off on a mission."  
"Can I come?" asked Rudolph, but at that they laughed even harder.  
"Of course not! Slaying is serious business, and you'd get yourself killed. Stay here and keep yourself amused – make some more baubles for the Christmas tree." Then they all went out, leaving Rudolph behind as usual. _

_Rudolph went back to his laboratory and set to work, staying late into the night to make more of his invention. So engrossed in his work was he that he didn't even notice how very dark it had become. As he put it down on the desk, he caught a glimpse of movement outside the window of the lab._

"If this is about to get really gory, Bertrand, I swear I'll..."  
"Shh. Rudolph doesn't get murdered in his lab, if that's what you mean." The Chosen One frowned, apparently taken aback.  
"Really?"  
"No. Now, the sooner I continue, the sooner you can get back to your picture books."  
"_Comics. _Fine, get on with it."

_...He caught a glimpse of movement outside the window of the lab. Rudolph, who as I've mentioned was not the smartest of slayers, promptly opened the window and stuck his head out into the night.  
"Hello? Is someone out there? Come in, the front door's open!"_

"What an idiot," Vlad sighed. "I assume it was a vampire?" Bertrand rolled his eyes.  
"You should _know_ this story, Vlad. Still, I suppose if you don't recognise the slayer's name, you might recognise the vampire's." Vlad raised an eyebrow and he sighed.  
"Or not. I'll spell it out."

_The Grand High Vampire couldn't believe his good fortune; he'd come to see if there was any revenge he could take for the slaying that had taken place earlier that night – really, with all the recent mutiny, it had been the last thing he needed - while everyone left at his command was busy fighting or hunting down the slayers who'd fled. He hadn't been expecting to be invited into HQ. He made his way through the deserted building until he found the lab, where Rudolph was tidying away his work._

_"Hello. Are you from one of the other bases?" The Grand High Vampire hesitated for a moment, then nodded. If this slayer was fool enough to believe him, that was his lookout. "Great, good to meet you, I'm Rudolph. Hey, look, I just made this new weapon, to fight the vampires – it's like a ball of sunlight you can throw. I'm thinking of calling it a UV grenade. Do you want to see it work?"_

_The Grand High Vampire recoiled from the glass bulbs on the table.  
"No! I mean, no... thank you. But... how many vampires can this take out in one go?" Rudolph beamed as brightly as his inventions.  
"It should take out any vampire within three metres of it in any direction. Maybe more. I haven't really had chance to test it." The Grand High Vampire nodded thoughtfully.  
" There are some, back at my... base... who would be very interested to see this. And we have some vampires you can test on." Rudolph frowned at him.  
"What are you saying?" The Grand High Vampire smiled coldly._

Vlad raised an eyebrow at Bertrand, daring him to say it.  
_"Rudolph," _Bertrand continued with just the merest hint of a smirk, _"with your bulbs so bright, won't you light my slay tonight?"_  
"I don't see how this is going to make all the slayers love him," Vlad grumbled, "and I bet if I look this up I won't find that line in the books." Bertrand neither confirmed nor denied this, choosing instead to go on with his story.

_"Of course," said Rudolph, excited to be invited on his first ever slaying mission, and he followed the Grand High Vampire back to the High Council's chambers.  
"Gather round; I've brought you all a new slayer weapon to admire." The treacherous councillors gathered obediently, sure that their betrayals had not yet been discovered. "Show them, Rudolph!" The Grand High Vampire sped from the room as Rudolph dropped his grenade to the floor, smashing it. When he returned, he found the bemused slayer standing in a ring of dust.  
"They were vampires!" He grinned. "I dusted vampires!"  
"Yes, Rudolph, you've been very helpful," the Grand High Vampire assured him. "What's that over there?" When Rudolph turned to look, the Grand High Vampire sank his fangs into his neck, draining him dry._

"You said he didn't get murdered-"  
"In his lab, no. He was drained in the Council chamber. An honour, really." Bertrand could be a right smug git sometimes, Vlad thought bitterly to himself.

_The slayers found his inventions in the lab, of course, along with all his notes, and were able to recreate them. Suddenly, Rudolph was known as the best slayer of the modern age... but they never found him._

"Do all your stories end in blood, Bertrand? Only it's not very Christmassy." Bertrand shrugged.  
"You may never know, unless I tell you them all." Wolfie chose to drift past the door again at that very moment, still singing to himself.

_"Then all the slayers loved him,  
And they shouted out with glee – yippee!  
Rudolph the red-nosed slayer,  
You'll go down in history..."_

"Well, at least that bit's accurate," Bertrand smirked, and left the Chosen One to stare blankly at his comic book. Sometimes, he really didn't know why he let Bertrand tell him anything.


	3. Silent Night

**Last chapter - I had hoped to do more but nothing else occurred to me. There's always next year! Enjoy.**

**Have a very merry Christmas, everyone!**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

_"Silent night, holy night,  
All is calm, all is bright..."_

Vlad noticed Bertrand twitch from the corner of his eye as they sat studying in Vlad's room again. Wolfie was singing - it seemed he really liked Christmas - outside the door, obviously playing with Pup in the hallway. The Chosen One sighed.  
"Go on, then. Tell me the horrific vampire version of Silent Night." Bertrand frowned, but he didn't respond. "Bertrand?" His tutor shook his head.  
"There's nothing to tell." Vlad blinked at him, and he sighed. "There are a lot of memories attached to that song for me."

_The night was indeed silent, for the first time Bertrand could remember. It had been weeks, weeks of fighting and mud and just hoping the trench wouldn't cave in in such a way that he was left exposed to sunlight. He'd managed to falsify paperwork that allowed him to move up and down the line, meaning that he could be conveniently in a supply trench whenever there was a daylight attack. At night, though, he was a deadly weapon, sneaking off into No-Man's Land to finish off the mortally wounded and bring back vital information. He wasn't even sure why he'd got involved in this blasted war, but he was still French; this was still his country and he would still fight for it._

_Tonight, though, there was no fighting. Earlier, there had been a huge game of football; one of the wounded in the trench had been kind enough to explain the finer points of the rules while he was trapped by the daylight, and he'd joined in for the last few minutes after dark. Then everyone had shaken hands, exchanged mementoes, and generally been altogether too chummy for mortal enemies. It was a mark of how blasted awful the war was that Bertrand hadn't protested this fraternising with the enemy; had even joined in._

_They were back in their own trenches now, bunking down for the night, wondering what the morning would bring. The generals were bound to be furious, it could only be a matter of time before threats were made, and the future seemed uncertain. That was when the voices sounded softly across the battlefield._

"Stille Nacht, heil'ge Nacht,  
Alles schläft; einsam wacht..."

_The soldiers stirred, and it wasn't long before English lyrics mingled with the German in the unnatural stillness of the night. Bertrand decided, there and then, that he would leave before dawn; the war was not for him anymore. Let the breathers deal with it; the men he'd signed up alongside were dead and he wanted no further part in this apocalypse._

_In the meantime, he joined his comrades in soft, reverent song._

Back in the present, Wolfie was still singing. Vlad, who'd gone back to staring at his book, looked up with a start as another soft voice joined in.

"_Sleep in heavenly peace,  
Sleep in heavenly peace."_


End file.
